


Prophecies Cease (a Dark Livestream trope crackfic)

by Anna_Hopkins



Series: Dark Livestream [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Around chapters thirteen-fifteen of Dark Livestream, Assistant gets summoned to another world, Crack, Dark Livestream 'verse, Drinking, Gen, Humor, M/M, POV Outsider, Summoning Circles, Trope Fic, Tropes, almost canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29305839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/pseuds/Anna_Hopkins
Summary: In a war-torn world, not quite like the one we know, the Order of the Phoenix's last hope for defeating the Dark Lord Voldemort lies with a ritual to summon a new Harry Potter capable of fulfilling the prophecy....They get Assistant.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Voldemort, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Dark Livestream [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710217
Comments: 48
Kudos: 443





	Prophecies Cease (a Dark Livestream trope crackfic)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the kind of ridiculous crack that comes out of me procrastinating on updating the main story
> 
> Enjoy ♥

Hogwarts was in danger.

This was something Harry knew as surely as anyone, even without spells; and he was willing to do whatever it took to save the castle - this last bastion against Voldemort's regime - and all the people inside it, even if that meant performing a _blood ritual._ He saw this determination in every face that was in this room with him now: his parents, his godfathers, his friends, and his mentor. "Whatever it costs," Harry murmured to himself, "it will all be worth it to save us."

Rituals, at least, didn't require a wand to participate in.

"On my signal," Dumbledore spoke up, lighting the seventh candle, "everyone will let a drop of their blood fall within the circle. With Fawkes' help," the phoenix chirruped, its orange flames flickering optimism across the shadowed stone room, "we will have our hero very soon."

Harry locked eyes with Ron and Hermione from across the circle - they were standing at angles to him, something about the geometry of their three-part friendship, Harry had never studied Arithmancy - and found them just as nervous as he was, fearful of the magic they were about to invoke. Hermione had read through the description in the scroll she'd found enough times to memorize it, but they were still afraid. It was only natural, Dumbledore had assured everyone, to be fearful of this kind of Dark magic: to feel otherwise was a sign of temptation to the Dark.

The last candle lit. It was a blue-green that Harry would find calming as a wall color, but a creepy distortion of normal Floo fire now. He raised his hand in sync with everyone else, letting a drop of blood well up where he'd used a needle to prick his thumb, and then, exhaling, let it fall.

Fawkes shrieked, going up in a burst of green, and so did the complicated geometric pattern within the circle. A gust of wind pushed everyone back even as it fanned the flames, so that they were well out of the way as a column of fire spun up to the ceiling, blindingly bright-

And then the flames dissipated with a hiss, and what was left standing in their place - or sitting, rather - was.. a man, garbed head to toe in black, with a hood over his head, who leapt to his feet, radiating surprise.

"What the hell?" the man said, and Harry flinched back, astonished - for it spoke with _his voice._

Dumbledore was the first to get his bearings: he swept forward, smiling bright at the summoned hero, and extended a hand in greeting. "Thank you for answering our call, hero," he began warmly. "Please, have no fear; we will explain all this in time."

The man gave a polite handshake, then kept his hands behind his back. "I would prefer you explain _now,_ actually," he corrected, and Harry raised his eyebrows - no one ever talked to the Headmaster like that. Did he just not know him, or something? (Harry couldn't imagine a world without Dumbledore.)

At least the venerable wizard didn't seem offended by the response. "Very well," he continued, as jovial as ever. "Introductions, then. I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts and leader of the Order of the Phoenix. These are some of our number, my fellow witches and wizards in the fight against the Dark Lord's regime-" he pointed to each of them in turn "-Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, Lily Potter, James Potter," and Harry wasn't sure if he imagined the emphatic pause before Dumbledore gestured to him: "and Harry Potter."

"..I see," the hero murmured, crossing his arms in front of his chest now. There were ink stains on his fingertips, Harry noticed. "So this is an alternate universe, then."

"Quite astute of you," Dumbledore complimented him. "And your name?"

A thoughtful hum. Harry realized the shadow obscuring the hero's face under the hood had to be magical in origin - when he raised a hand to his chin, it disappeared into inky blackness without a hint it was there. It was kind of creepy. "I suppose," he mused, "you may call me.. Assistant."

"A fortuitous name," Dumbledore observed, "as assistance is precisely why we have summoned you." He waved a hand to brighten the room - a powerful display of wandless magic - and drew his wand to conjure up chairs for everyone.

The hero - Assistant - didn't take his seat right away, preferring to remain standing. "You called me a 'hero' earlier," he said. "What exactly are you asking of me?"

"My boy-" and Harry saw Assistant's gloved hands twitch, as if they meant to clench into fists, "-we will shortly explain just that. Please, sit. Would you like a lemon drop?"

"I'd prefer gin," Assistant answered, and sat down at last in his chintzy purple armchair - which promptly turned into black leather underneath him. Harry's eyes widened, and he was not the only one: wandless, wordless Transfiguration? He'd only ever seen Dumbledore do that before, and then rarely.

Hermione elbowed Ron where they were sitting next to each other, and Harry's redheaded friend closed his mouth before it caught flies.

"As you wish," Dumbledore acquiesced, summoning a house-elf to bring refreshments. Assistant took the entire bottle off the tray, pouring himself a very full glass, and set the bottle to float beside him in the air. They all watched him drink in silence for a minute, downing half the glass and refilling it, before the Headmaster at last broke the tension in the room with a loud crunch of his hard candy.

"From how quickly you recognized this as an alternate universe," he supposed, "I assume you recognized a few of the names in this room?"

Assistant snorted. "A few? All of them. Some alive, some dead." It was troublesome, Harry found, not to be able to see underneath Assistant's hood - he couldn't tell if the man was looking at specific people when he said that. His body language, meanwhile, remained open, casual, calm; there was no reading him.

Harry's parents and godparents were leaning forward in their seats, equally intrigued. "There's a war in your world, too?" Sirius guessed.

Assistant crossed one leg over the other, drawing attention to the polished ends of his boots and the shine of his leather trousers. He had a kind of weird style, thought Harry privately. "Not the kind you all seem to have. At least not anymore."

"You won?" Ron blurted out. "Whoa."

A laugh from Assistant's unseen mouth. He sipped at his gin. "You could certainly say that," he agreed. "And yours isn't going so well."

"Indeed not, Assistant," said Dumbledore now, more solemn. "The Dark Lord Voldemort has ravaged Britain and taken over portions of Germany and France, with designs on all of Europe, if not the world. He was defeated temporarily in 1981 thanks to Harry here, but-"

"1981?" Assistant interrupted. "What year is it now?"

Hermione's eyebrows had climbed into her hairline. No one interrupted Dumbledore. "It's 1997," she informed Assistant in a cool tone. "August twentieth."

Assistant simply hummed an acknowledgement, and waved for Dumbledore to continue. _Arrogant much?_ thought Harry.

To his continued credit, the Headmaster didn't take offense to being treated so carelessly. "Voldemort has delved into Dark Arts to make himself immortal, and returned in the spring of 1995 to resume his war, even stronger than before. Those who oppose him have been pushed back to a warded territory surrounding and encompassing Hogwarts as of this summer while his regime continues its hunt for the Muggle-born and their Muggle families. Our last attempt to defeat him lies with this: a ritual to call forth a hero from another world like ours - one with the power to defeat him, as dictated by the Prophecy."

"I see," Assistant murmured, setting his glass down.

"So, Assistant," said Dumbledore, leaning forward in his seat, "or rather, the Harry Potter of the other world: won't you show us your face?"

The Order members in audience gasped - Harry included - at this turn of events. Assistant, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair and laughed. "I would compliment you on your deduction," he said, lifting a hand to his hood, "but I could just as easily have been Neville Longbottom if the prophecies of my world and yours are the same. Such an _assumption_ is quite rude, you know."

"But you aren't Neville Longbottom," Dumbledore pointed out lightly.

"No," Assistant agreed, and pulled down the hood. "I'm Assistant."

Harry goggled at the man - his counterpart, as Dumbledore had said. But Assistant didn't resemble him even with the hood down, and not just because of his outfit, or the way he'd grown the infamous Potter hair long and tied it back to tame it in a ponytail that showed off a glinting black earring on his left ear. Assistant's very bearing was different; was _self-assured_ in a way that verged on arrogance; and he paid no mind to the looks he was getting from the other Order members for it. Assistant rested his chin on his hand and just _looked_ at Dumbledore for a moment, and Harry saw a flicker of something in the man's vivid green eyes that he didn't know how to define.

"..You're very Gryffindor, aren't you," Assistant smiled, sipping his gin. They waited for him to say more, but nothing was said. Harry had the distinct impression the man was holding back more words that came to mind.

"And you aren't?" wondered James Potter, squinting at him, Sirius and Remus murmuring to each other at the question.

"Oh, I am," the man levelled his green gaze on Harry's father, "I was just thinking aloud. It reminds me of my world's Hermione, is all."

He looked back to Dumbledore. "But I digress." A smirk quirked up the corner of his mouth, as if the phrase were some inside joke. "What exactly do you expect _me_ to do about all this?"

Harry found the brightness in the Headmaster's eyes had faded. "We must defeat Voldemort before the wards on this territory fall. The summoning ritual has brought you to us, which means that power is in your hands, Harry."

Assistant stood, dismissing the conjured chair behind him with nary a gesture; it faded into vapor in an instant. "So, I kill Voldemort, and then I'll go back to my world."

"We believe so, yes."

"Well then..." the man took out some kind of small tablet, shiny like a mirror, which on his touch lit up in a square. He moved his fingertips over it, read something, frowned a moment, then deactivated the light and returned it to his pocket. "I guess I may as well." Assistant turned his gaze on the rest of them, offering a surprisingly bright smile compared to the frosty look he'd just given the Headmaster. "I look forward to working with you all. Please, call me Assistant."

James Potter didn't know how to feel about the Harry they'd summoned from another world.

If it hadn't been for the scar on the man's forehead, he would scarcely have believed Albus' claim in the first place. Assistant was just so _different_ from Harry. James's son had always been close with him and Lily, but there was none of that attachment in Assistant's eyes. The difference in his demeanor bothered Lily, who'd expected that closeness from every version of her son; James less so, but only because he was more curious than dismayed.

They found out why at dinner, when the main body of the Order met in the Great Hall: "It's pretty cool getting to meet my parents," Assistant said cheerfully over his bowl of soup. "In my world, you sacrificed yourselves to protect me, so I only had photos."

_Oh._

"I can't imagine what that must be like," James's Harry murmured, introspective. He glanced at James and Lily, as if to reassure himself they were still there.

Lily had patted Assistant's hand, sympathetic. "We might not be from your world," she said softly, "but we're more than happy to be your parents here." And an embarrassed smile had spread over the man's face. He insisted he hadn't meant it as a complaint, and that he was more than happy with his chosen family and friends in his world, really.

Despite himself, James had been a little choked up by the reassurance.

Albus took a moment after the main course to announce Assistant's presence to the rest of the Order. "Fortune has favored us this day," he proclaimed, smoothing over the fact that said fortune had come from a blood ritual, which James knew was an ominous truth the public need not hear, "with a traveler from another world, capable of defeating Voldemort once and for all."

And so the evening saw many of the assembled crowding around Assistant, shaking his hand, offering their welcomes and well-wishes. James wondered, seeing how easily Assistant took to the atmosphere, how readily he smiled for them all without a hint of stress, how much experience the man had had with crowd management in his world. He’d said he was a Gryffindor; but that was Slytherin-level acting.

When the crowds had dispersed, Assistant downed an elixir he'd kept in his pocket and informed James he was going to the library.

It became a pattern in the next three days. Assistant showed up at meals, then went off to other areas of the castle. He was remarkably incurious about the rest of the territory within the wards. _Whatever he's focused on,_ James concluded, _he's got the dedication of a Hufflepuff._

The Marauders met for drinks in the Hog's Head on the fourth day, and Sirius was the one to voice what they all were thinking: "This bloke's weird."

"But friendly," Remus contributed.

"But friendly," they chorused, knocking back a shot of Firewhiskey each.

"I followed him around under a Disillusionment earlier," Sirius confided. "He was muttering to himself about a contract; it sounds like he has a really strict boss back home."

"Curse-breaker, do you think?" Remus suggested, refilling their glasses. "He's got that sort of atmosphere."

James thought that tracked. Goblins were unyielding taskmasters; and the name 'Assistant' was exactly the sort of thing a goblin would call an outsider when it wasn't arsed to use their name. "Explains the drinking, too," he nodded.

Because Assistant was by all accounts an alcoholic - albeit one who'd toned it down after the shocking realization the Order didn't keep a ready supply of sobriety potions. (He'd facepalmed and muttered to himself that 'of course, this isn't Headquarters,' which James thought sounded like a very goblin name for a home base, too.)

The trio took the long route back from the pub that night, to walk off their pleasant buzz, and it was only thanks to this that they happened upon the very man they'd gossiped about, out on the grounds. Assistant was sat with Harry on a picnic blanket in the middle of the lawn; between them, within a salt circle, was a wooden bowl full of a pale grey substance, whose contents Assistant was pondering while Harry looked on, confused. "Strange," the man was murmuring, dipping his finger in the bowl. It turned black in an instant, and back to white when he pulled away.

"What's this?" Sirius approached the bowl. "Some kind of potion?"

"Nah," Assistant sat back, giving him space to see for himself. "Easy ritual to test exposure to Dark magic. Give it a try if you like."

He seemed surprised by the results each of them got, particularly Remus': "Aren't you a werewolf?"

_"What?"_ Remus reared back, affronted. "I'm a _wolf Animagus,_ I'll thank you to know!"

"Don't take it personally, Moony, it's obviously different than in his 'verse," cajoled Sirius, slipping his arm companionably around Remus' shoulders. "Right, Assistant?"

Assistant pointed at Remus. "You were a werewolf," at Sirius, "you were a fugitive from Azkaban who'd been locked up without a trial," at James, "you were a famous martyr," at Harry, "and you were me, of course." He grinned. "Rough job of it, prophecy kid."

That got a round of laughter from everyone. Only later, when they'd long parted ways, did James blink awake and wonder - if that was a test for Dark magic, what did it mean that Assistant's result was _black?_

After nearly a week, Harry felt like he still had more questions than answers when it came to Assistant's character. He'd gotten to talk with him a bit in that time, when Assistant had been focused on something else enough to let things slip: for example, despite appearances, they were the same age. Assistant had close friends in the Ron and Hermione of his world just as Harry did, but he didn't seem to care if they liked him here. (In Assistant's world, they were a _couple,_ and therefore preoccupied with each other, which Harry thought was incredibly weird.)

Instead, Assistant's closest friend and confidant seemed to be this mysterious mentor or boss figure he called Sir, who had no apparent counterpart in this world-

And Assistant was very lonely without him.

Harry could see it in the way he looked when talking about Sir - could hear it in the deliberate emphasis around the name, the softness in Assistant's voice when he pronounced the syllable. It was enough that Harry felt bad for summoning him; Assistant was obviously putting in all this effort so he could go _back_ to Sir sooner, rather than later, when he won.

('When', he said. Not 'if'. That was a good sign.)

At least, that was what Harry had _thought_ Assistant was studying so hard for. Then, on the seventh day of his time in Harry's world, the man asked everybody who'd participated in the last ritual to join him in the dungeons.

"What for?" Harry's dad blinked.

"I've figured out the ritual I need to help you guys," Assistant said brightly. "Thought you'd like to watch."

Back when Harry had first lost his wand in the battle with some of Voldemort's Death Eaters, and everyone in the Order had started treating him as dead weight, he had considered studying ritual magic to compensate. It had been Dumbledore who'd kept him from starting down that path, warning him it was Dark Arts; and now, watching Assistant arrange a ritual circle with ease borne of practice, _feeling_ the magic in the room shift to something colder, he shivered, and was thankful to have been talked out of it. Much better to simply wait until they could find him a new wand.

(Even if the way Assistant floated candles into place with only a gesture _was_ wicked cool.)

Dumbledore had joined the audience, too, and Harry briefly met his sparkling blue eyes, concerned, before Assistant cut the torchlight out entirely and conjured a dim green Lumos overhead, instead. Harry wondered if the Headmaster was regretting summoning Assistant, when the type of magic the man used was so anathema to the principles of the Order; or if it was fine, so long as they defeated Voldemort in the end.

He turned his attention to the circle Assistant was drawing, instead. It was a lot like the one they'd drawn for the summoning ritual a week ago - but that had taken them an entire day to chalk onto the floor, in painstaking detail, whereas Assistant had only just started pouring salt a few minutes ago and was already half-done.

When he stepped back, wiping sweat off his brow - Harry wondered how he was sweating when the room was so cold - there was a seven-pointed star scribed within the circle, with strange little loops stylized into it. Seven small triangles met the points of the star, from outside the circle entirely; into these, Assistant floated seven candles, deep black instead of the pure white Dumbledore had used for their ritual. Harry knew he was not the only one who felt the creeping, crawling _something_ over his skin as Assistant went clockwise around the circle, lighting the wicks with drops of his own blood. That was not _possible,_ his mind told him. It was _wrong._

Assistant paid none of them any mind, though he surely _must_ have glimpsed the discomfort on their faces, or just felt the tension in the room. But no: he was humming, singing, under his breath, and walking three times 'round the circle, then turning, and walking three times the other way.

At last, he stopped walking, and turned to face the circle; Harry saw wax welling up from the candles and dripping down into the triangles allocated for them, black like blood in the moonlight (oh, Harry had seen so much blood, this past winter, it made him sick to think of it)-

He retrieved that strange rectangular artifact from his pocket, the one he'd tapped and drawn on in the past few days, and floated it into the center of the circle, now, and lit up, and everyone felt the swelling of power in the room, the icy breeze, the pressure, as Assistant made his invocation.

"Call."

_"Calling: Sir,"_ said a neutral, female voice from the artifact.

Harry stared at it. Was that - some kind of telephone?

Hermione, too, was staring wide-eyed at the tablet as it floated, and rotated, and _rang._ Three rings, a metallic chime, distorted bells-

Then it picked up, and the voice that spoke tickled at Harry's ears like it should be familiar.

_"Assistant,"_ it sighed. "Are you all right? I couldn't reach you."

"Sorry, Sir," Assistant said, relief coloring his tone. "An interesting magical thing happened - I was summoned to another world. It took me a week to figure out how to get any reception."

The faint light of the candles was enough for Harry to see the way Assistant's face had changed: the smile he wore now was nothing like the one he'd shown everyone else this whole time. He realized only now that this was Assistant's _genuine_ face.

"..seven-and-three circle," their summoned hero was giving a highly technical, rapidfire explanation, "to counterbalance the whole," he gestured, not that Sir could see that, "you know. It should bear plenty of repetition."

"You are a natural and a delight, my dear," Sir chuckled, and Harry blushed, feeling like he was intruding now, but no one seemed inclined to give Assistant and Sir any privacy. "Though you will be pleased to know it has only been seven _hours_ here, and not seven days. An excusable absence, if need be."

"Oh! That's great," Assistant perked up. "Because I thought - to keep things interesting - you might like to come over?"

From the other end, there came the sound of heavy glass meeting wood. "Why, Assistant," Sir breathed, "I would like nothing more."

"Let me know when you're ready, Sir," Assistant beamed, pulling up his hood. "I can activate the summoning anytime."

They waited a few minutes, while it sounded like Sir was rummaging amongst a collection of bottles. "Oh!" Assistant remembered. "They don't have any Sobering Draught on supply here, Sir. I only had the one phial on me when I crossed over."

"Sweet Salazar," Sir murmured, "what a shame. How in the world do they live like that?" More sounds of clinking glass, and then: "All right, that should be plenty. Beam me up, Scotty."

Assistant giggled - _giggled_ \- and snapped his fingers, and the circle was engulfed in flames. It was much like before; and also like before, when the flames disappeared, they left behind a figure in black. Assistant absently waved the lights back on in the dungeon, and Harry thought, for a second time, that Sir seemed really familiar.

He looked back to Assistant - only to find that the man had vacated the spot, in favor of rushing forward to cling to his summoned person, enveloping himself in the sweeping over-robe that Sir wore. "Oh, Sir," he sighed, delighted, "I'm so glad you came."

The taller wizard raised a hand to Assistant's cheek; it phased right through the hood that Assistant was once again wearing. He smiled down at him. "As am I, my dear," he said. "There is only so much I can get up to in my office without you."

Assistant had his arms around Sir's waist, chuckling into his shoulder. "I hope this will be as fun as the usual, then," he teased. "This world’s Order asked me to kill their Dark Lord, and I couldn't let you miss it."

"Have they now?" Sir raised one elegant eyebrow, only now raising his gaze from where it had been fixed on his Assistant. Each person who met his eyes flinched; Harry saw Hermione pale, and when he looked at Dumbledore, the man stepped back, aghast, clutching at his chest. What-?

Then Sir turned to him: and Harry understood immediately what had so terrified them. "What a delight," the man murmured, staring steadily at Harry, as the smirk curling across his face reached his vivid, red eyes.

No.

"And how," Voldemort purred, looking down at their supposed hero, “do you intend to do it, Assistant? There are so very _many_ ways.”

Assistant stepped back, out of the circle, and Voldemort followed him. It was like they couldn't stand to separate, couldn’t even turn their gaze from the other, for long. “It seems like he doesn’t have any horcruxes, so I thought you might like to use him as a sacrifice of some kind, Sir,” the man suggested, in the tone one would use to discuss a restaurant for a date. "Like the one that destroyed the Prophecy."

Destroyed? A _prophecy?_ Harry's jaw dropped. But nobody was paying him any attention; all eyes were on Sir, who _swept Assistant up in his arms and swung him around,_ rich laughter coloring the room. "Oh, Assistant!" He grinned. "You have the most delightful ideas to cheer me up, darling apprentice!”

“I try, Sir,” Assistant smiled, sounding - _coy._ “And you did want me to practice taking souls out of their bodies this week.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” the Dark Lord gave him an indulgent look, opening the door with nary a gesture and escorting Assistant through with a hand at the small of his back. “Why, there is always…”

Harry, and the Order, watched them leave, voices fading down the corridor outside. In their wake, there was silence, and horror, but most of all, a sense of their impending doom.

“Through a glass, darkly,” whispered Dumbledore, stricken, where he was slumped back against the wall. His blue eyes took in the sight of the ritual circle, or what was left of it - residues of the sort of magic he’d never dared to dabble in - and added, to himself: “..what have I done?”

_“...where there are prophecies, they will cease;_ _  
_ _where there are tongues, they will be stilled;_ _  
_ _where there is knowledge, it will pass away._

_For we know in part and we prophesy in part,_ _  
_ _but when completeness comes, what is in part_ _  
_ _disappears._

_...For now we see_ **_through a glass, darkly;_ ** _  
_ _then we shall see face to face._ _  
_

_...And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love._ _  
_ _But the greatest of these is love.”_

_1 Corinthians 13 (New Int’l Ver.)_


End file.
